Page 7 of River Wild

“Size ten and a half.” The lab tech went on to explain that cowboy boots usually come in three common heel heights. “A walking heel is about one inch, and a riding heel is up to two inches. A walking or roper heel is usually flat and blocklike, while a riding heel is underslung or tapered.”

“Right,” he said, hoping to move him along as he looked after Bailey, trying to make sense of what had just happened in his office. Until he turned in his resignation, he was still assisting the state crime team on a local level.

“The leather soles of cowboy boots are smooth for safety while riding. If you fall from the saddle, the smooth soles will slip from the stirrup irons easier, keeping you from getting stuck. What makes this boot print unusual is that it is worn to the point that the soles are no longer smooth, and it has a buckaroo heel.”

“What’s a buckaroo heel?” the sheriff asked. He’d worn cowboy boots since he was a boy, but this was a new one on him.

“It’s high and tapered in the back and leaves a distinct print.” The tech sounded excited about this. “Also, buckaroo-type cowboy boots are higher up the calf. The leather is thicker to protect the horseback rider.”

“So all we have to do is find the man wearing these boots,” Stuart said.

“He might only wear them when he kills.”

That caught him off guard. “You think this isn’t his first?” He felt that glimmer of excitement he used to feel about solving a case, but it quickly waned. He could no longer do this in good conscience. He no longer trusted his judgment.

“Hard to say if he’s done this before. I’ll run the boot prints and the mark left on the body from the photo the coroner sent through our system. If he’s done this before, I’m betting the disfigurement is his signature. Maybe we’ll get a hit.”

Stuart disconnected and swore as he looked out his window to see Bailey driving away from the sheriff’s department. Her words kept coming back to him.So she wasn’t...

Gooseflesh rippled over the bare skin of his arms. So she wasn’t what? Raped, bound, disfigured and then left in the river to drown? Why had Bailey asked that? He knew why he’d lied to her about what had been done to the victim. He was still the law. He couldn’t share details about an ongoing investigation.

Yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that Bailey knew something. He’d been afraid for her before this, but now he was terrified. He tried her number. It went straight to voicemail.

“We need to talk. It’s urgent. About Willow...there’s more that I couldn’t tell you.”

He disconnected, his mind racing. Bailey had been afraid that more was done to Willow. Because she knew someone it had happened to? Or... He wouldn’t let himself go there. If Bailey had crossed paths with this killer at some point, why wouldn’t she have come forward? He knew women often didn’t go to the law for a lot of reasons. Fear, embarrassment, a need to forget.

But not Bailey. She wouldn’t have kept silent. Yet...

Stuart tried her number again. Voicemail. “Call me, Bailey.”

He recalled how nervous she’d been in his office. How afraid she’d been. Grabbing his Stetson, he headed for his patrol SUV to look for her. He couldn’t depend on her to come to him.

But when he hadn’t found her hours later, he was forced to return to his office to do what he had to, knowing that even if he could have found her, he couldn’t make her talk to him if she didn’t want to. His resignation letter was still on his desk, but it was too late to do anything with it today.

He told himself that there was nothing more he could do tonight. Tomorrow he would officially resign. The state crime team would find Willow Branson’s killer since Stuart knew he wasn’t up to it. The young woman deserved better than him, he told himself.

He tried Bailey’s number again. It went directly to voicemail. He didn’t bother to leave another message.

BAILEYDIDN’TKNOWwhere she was going—just that she needed to drive after listening to Stuart’s message.We need to talk. It’s urgent. Willow...there’s more that I couldn’t tell you.

She gripped the wheel, her fingers going numb. She should have left years ago. At least, she shouldn’t have come back after college—not after knowing what she was coming home to. There was still time. It wasn’t too late. She could leave and never look back. It didn’t matter that she had no idea where she would go—just away. Somewhere safe.

But even as she thought it, she knew that there was only one way she would feel safe. That’s why she’d come back to the ranch. That’s why she couldn’t leave, especially now.

More that I couldn’t tell you.She almost called Stuart, but the pit in her stomach already told her what he would say. She’d known the moment her father had told her Willow had been murdered that she’d changed her hair color, that she looked so much like Bailey that Ralph Jones had thought at first it was her. Bailey had known.

Yet she’d wanted so desperately to believe she was wrong that she’d accepted Stuart’s simple cause of death. Drowning.

There’s more that I couldn’t tell you.

At the quick, sharp burp of a siren, her gaze shot to her rearview mirror. A patrol SUV? Stuart? She started to slam her foot down on the gas pedal, needing to run, but stopped herself. She couldn’t outrun him. Even if she got away tonight, he’d come looking for her tomorrow.

She slowed and pulled over, realizing where she was. On an empty road miles from town. Frowning, she glanced in her rearview mirror, but could see little because of the flashing lights.

Stuart? How had the sheriff found her? Had he followed her out of town? She hadn’t been paying attention, a mistake on her part that could have been much worse if the person in that car had been someone else.

The sheriff was the one person in this town she felt she could trust, and yet she knew Stuart wanted much more than her trust, which complicated things.

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